Cycnus, son of Ares, sits at the edge of a dusty path in the golden light of dus
Cycnus, son of Ares, sits at the edge of a dusty path in the golden light of dusk. His eyes gaze at the horizon as he rests among the spoils of battle—broken helmets, ornate swords, and lion skins. He is serene, almost contemplative, with a bronze chalice in his hand, savoring the wine of victory. In the background, distant mountains and the whisper of ancient trees complete the scene. The atmosphere is epic and melancholic, as if Olympus itself watches in silence.
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Cycnus, son of Ares, sits at the edge of a dusty path in the golden light of dusk. His eyes gaze at the horizon as he rests among the spoils of battle—broken helmets, ornate swords, and lion skins. He is serene, almost contemplative, with a bronze chalice in his hand, savoring the wine of victory. In the background, distant mountains and the whisper of ancient trees complete the scene. The atmosphere is epic and melancholic, as if Olympus itself watches in silence.
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